


Bang & Burn

by indigomini



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigomini/pseuds/indigomini
Summary: Senior assassin Kim Jongin is sent on a mission to kill a retired sniper, who turns out to be his first love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a tweet prompt by [@raamouri](https://twitter.com/raanmouri/status/906883870364024832).

Strange how it takes almost a minute to register why the eyes on his screen look familiar, as if the name in all caps under the photo wasn’t an obvious enough clue. The face he’s looking at has hardly aged a day since they’ve parted, but memories have a way of softening features, making him look even younger in hindsight. The shot is in black and white, captured by a telephoto lens, digitally enhanced to crisp out the features. Not that Jongin needs it. He still has his own stash somewhere, encrypted and locked away. Forever in the past, he had thought…

Not quite in the past, it seems. His latest offer stares back at him. A ₩1,127,738,996.09 reward. One million dollars, USD. The buyer: SME.

What could Do Kyungsoo have done…

This is not a question that should concern him. As a top-tier courier, he has ten minutes to call first dibs before the ticket is passed on. A million bucks is about as high dollar as they go without dipping into warlords and charismatic rebels territory.

The timer flashes from green to yellow as it counts down. Five minutes left to accept or pass on the ticket.

Maybe he got an executive’s daughter pregnant. Or switched to a different company. Or maybe Kyungsoo didn’t do anything offensive at all, and is just trying to get out, something Jongin’s been considering for the past few months himself. Last he had heard (not that he has been keeping track), Kyungsoo was already supposed to be retired.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Maybe Kyungsoo is in trouble.

Well. _Clearly_ , he’s in trouble if someone is willing to throw down that much to see him dead.

The timer flashes to red. One minute. Fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight.

In his next breath, he can smell pancakes. Ghost memories of wide eyes, smooth skin, and a deep, goofy laugh from a rare, lazy Sunday morning. Mismatched, wrinkled clothes hastily discarded over the kitchen floor. He remembers messy hotel bedsheets lit by morning light. He can almost recall the notes from Kyungsoo's cologne lingering in his t-shirts. And he remembers _knowing_ death was coming for him, watching the life empty out of his body as consciousness faded away, and seeing an angel hover over him, yelling and bandaging instead of taking him away from this plane of existence.

Six.

Five.

He doesn’t need the money. It’s better to let someone else deal with this.

Two. One.

**TICKET ACCEPTED. DETAILS OF THIS TRANSACTION WILL BE TRANSMITTED TO K88 SERVER WITHIN FIVE (5) MINUTES. PROMPT AND DISCREET DELIVERY IS APPRECIATED.**

This seems like a bad idea.

This is Kyungsoo. This is a very bad idea.

—

The last sighting in the file indicated that Kyungsoo was somewhere in southern Wyoming as of two hours before the ticket was accepted. Back in the United States.

Why the _fuck_ would he ever go back after everything that happened…

Regardless, ten hours later, weighed down by jetlag, Jongin checks into the St. Julien in Boulder, Colorado and gets to work. It’s a little jarring to hear English on American tongues again, to see a city so sprawled out and sunny. He’ll have to practice talking, diluting the British back out of his Korean accent to minimize attracting attention. And then there is the driving. Luckily, the road from the private hangar to the hotel was pretty empty at this time of night, allowing him ample room to swerve back and forth while he figured out the controls, nary an innocent bystander around to suffer through his panic and disorientation. It’s been too long since he last drove with any amount of regularity.

If any of their mutual contacts know anything about Kyungsoo’s whereabouts, they’re choosing to keep it to themselves. With the file so slim, dealing with such a field veteran, he doesn’t run much of a chance of finding Kyungsoo if he chooses to lay low. But Jongin has his reasons for suspecting Boulder. People may change a lot in ten years, but his gut says Kyungsoo is nearby.

Boulder is nicknamed America’s happiest city, often ranked its “best” city, according to trivial sites that take it upon themselves to rank things like that. Little facts like this mattered to a twenty-four year old Do Kyungsoo, and this industry has a way of freezing personalities and traits, arresting development in everything other than skill refinery. Or one can hope, anyway, if he has any chance of tracking down _thirty_ -four year old Do Kyungsoo.

“Domino’s,” answers the woman on the other end of the line, her tone clipped.

There are other phones going off in the background. He hasn’t used this service in a while, but he’s here by himself. “I need a special delivery for Kilo-Alpha-Indigo-Eight-Eight,” Jongin instructs, holding his breath afterward.

“Location?”

“Colorado. Denver metro area, concentrating around Boulder.” This is going to be expensive, but he does not have much of a choice. It’s his best bet, and he needs more hands on deck. “Asian supermarkets. H-Marts and the like.”

There’s a pause. He can almost hear amusement ebbing out of the woman’s breath, picked up by the proximity of her microphone. “...Duration?” she asks.

“Seven days.”

A low whistle this time. This woman finds him funny. “Your order number is three-zero-three-” she reads off as Jongin scrambles to jot the digits down. He reads them back to her, getting only a terse, “Your order will initiate within forty-two minutes of acceptance.”

The line goes dead.

Quickly, he texts the phone number with Kyungsoo’s physical description and the black and white photo from the docket. No answering text. He doesn’t expect one. At least his background net is set up now. He’s used this surveillance company before. They’re expensive, but much more secure and discreet. Two things he needs right now. Here’s to hoping Kyungsoo makes a grocery run soon.

At least that’s one benefit to him being here. With its 4.8% Asian population, comfort food selections dwindle down significantly. And Kyungsoo could never go too long without home cooking. Or that’s what he’s banking on, anyway. Otherwise, if Kyungsoo really chooses to go underground, he doesn’t have much of a chance of saving him—

 _Finding_ him. Jongin doesn’t stand much of a chance of finding him.

Unable to resist, he pulls up the files on his phone again.

 **> > KNOWN AFFILIATES**:

>> Jongin Kim

The other names in that small list cause too many buried emotions to stir up, and Jongin hurries to tamp them back down. This is a waiting game. He has to prepare.

He’s got a job to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: drug usage

A part of him really hopes the surveillance team turns up nothing. That he finds Kyungsoo first. It’s irrational and counterproductive, and despite feeling foolish, Jongin still pushes himself a little more than he should each day, hoping against hope that the expensive service is fruitless. Each time his phone buzzes with a new false hit, Jongin sighs in relief and doubles down on his efforts.

It's still such a reach that Kyungsoo would come back here. For all he knows, he's dropped several thousand dollars just to give Kyungsoo the best head start toward sneaking back into Korea and going underground for the rest of his days. Boulder could mean nothing to Do Kyungsoo anymore.

As it should mean nothing to Jongin.

Jongin is grabbing a quick bite when the latest text comes in. He nearly chokes on his burrito when his phone loads the image. Moving targets and moving surveillance tend to make for blurry shots. The image is grainy as hell. The figure is casually dressed in a black beanie, thick, round glasses, blue t-shirt, and rolled up jeans, balancing armfuls of grocery bags as he exits a store. The body proportions are right. The face...how many people could look like him...

Multitasking texting and cleaning up his meal, Jongin swallows disappointment and hurriedly exits the restaurant just as the app finally loads and he can paste in his new login code. The drone he just took over from the surveillance company is tracking a dark blue car, streaming video back to his phone, and his phone alone.

The car weaves through midday traffic and into a residential area, coming to a stop in front of an extended stay motel. The passenger side rear door opens, and a figure emerges, plastic grocery bags in tow. He doesn't bother looking back at the driver, and walks straight into a side entrance as it pulls away. The gait, even with the uneven weight distribution. There’s no doubt now, even after all this time. This is Do Kyungsoo.

It takes a little navigating to circle the drone around and follow him to his room while managing to stay hidden, but the controls are intuitive enough. This is perfect. Jongin can just head back to his hotel, formulate a plan of action. Surveil properly. The drone has enough battery and a solid connection. He has nothing but time.

Thirty minutes later, or as fast as his Uber could take him, Jongin is wiping his palms against his thighs and walking up to the front desk. The clerk turns away from his computer screen and looks over Jongin with a mask of boredom.

“What’s up, man?” the man says.

“Yeah,” Jongin chuckles, rubbing his hand over his nape in awkwardness, “I locked myself out of my room. Can I get a replacement key?”

Inwardly, he’s cringing at how he can still hear the British tinge in his accent. But the man only nods, pulling up a new card and inserting it into the machine. “Which room?”

Sometimes, it _is_ just that easy. “Seven.”

“Cool,” the clerk says, punching the number in. He hands Jongin the card. “Your other cards still work too, so you can have backups.”

Perfect.

—

One hour into hiding in a dark corner, watching his phone like a hawk for any signs of change, Jongin finally starts to wonder what the hell he’s doing. This was not the plan. He’s a machine, normally. A professional. He doesn’t just barge into situations without a solid plan, alternate, and exit strategy, and yet here he is, flying blind.

On screen, the door swings open, startling him with the sudden change. A figure walks out - _Kyungsoo_ walks out - and stalks off toward the front desk, determination in each step.

Quickly, on autopilot, Jongin circles around Kyungsoo’s building and lets himself in, easing the door shut. His gun is cocked and ready, held out as he scans for company. The room has a chaotic combination of smells, from the stale carpet saturated with industrial cleaner to an odd, greasy stench to...pancakes.

He must be hallucinating. He needs to snap out of it.

It’s a small room, but somehow they’ve managed to pack a tiny living room, bedroom, and kitchenette into it, with a bathroom off to the side. The curtains are drawn. The coffee table is littered with small plastic canisters, like old film containers, along with some strange glassware and a mountain of plastic bags. It’s a confusing scene.

The scent of pancakes wafts over to him again. A hasty glance over to the kitchen reveals that Jongin is at least not experiencing olfactory failure. There is a tall stack of pancakes on a paper plate by the stove.

Nothing here makes sense. He can’t see any weapons. Any planning.

His grip tightens around his pistol as the door lock beeps. He flattens himself against the wall, out of the immediate line of sight of the entrance as Kyungsoo walks into the dim room.

The door swings shut as Kyungsoo turns, stopping in his tracks, eyes widening slowly at his surprise guest. His hands are held out, a stack of napkins in one hand, syrup dispenser in the other.

“ _Man_ ,” Kyungsoo whines out in a high tone, looking wistfully over to his plate of pancakes.

Now. Right now, Jongin should bury two 9mm hollow points into Kyungsoo’s chest and spiral another through his skull for good measure and be a million dollars richer. It’d be the quickest, cleanest job he’s ever done.

His finger rides along the curve of the trigger, squeezing in and feeling intent build up behind the pull. Intention that doesn’t align with his own.

Kyungsoo’s eyes are still on the plate. Maybe only a second has passed, but it feels like minutes.

More like ten years, actually.

 _Look at me_.

With a sigh, Kyungsoo answers his silent request, turning his gaze back to Jongin’s face.

His finger relaxes on the trigger as he takes a deep inhale and holds it. The placid look on Kyungsoo’s face doesn’t shift into recognition or shock as the seconds tick by. He is standing in the shadows, and for a moment, Jongin has the absurd thought of stepping into the light, of speaking. _Look at me!_

From the burn in his lungs, maybe a minute crept by. Jongin breathes out, and nearly jumps out of his skin as Kyungsoo sidesteps him and walks into the kitchen.

“Look,” Kyungsoo says, raising his hands up, his back to Jongin as he trades the napkins for the plate. “No weapons. I’ve got nothing. But these pancakes are going cold, and I’ve been dying for these all day long. At least let me get a bite in. I made them myself.”

He takes a step forward, brows furrowing. Kyungsoo turns around, glancing too casually down at the gun still trained on him. Jongin advances another pace. And another. Until he’s fully lit by the fluorescent kitchen light.

Kyungsoo empties nearly half the bottle of syrup over the stack and slowly sets the dispenser on the counter, coming back empty handed and making a show of proving it as he rips into the top layer of pancakes. His eyes roll back in his head as he sucks his fingers clean. “ _God_ , this is so good,” he moans blissfully. “Here, try some.”

Jongin tries to imagine a scenario where he can summon such nonchalance in the face of immediate threat, and comes up empty. Whatever he had imagined their reunion would be like, this is turning out to be the polar opposite.

Kyungsoo brings his hand to his chest, over his heart. “Look, I have no weapons,” he repeats, before plucking another bite of the pancakes and holding his hand back up. Scout's honor. “I don't know if it's even possible to assault someone with a pancake. And this plate is paper, and the steam has made it all soggy anyway. You need to try this.”

Under the confusion, bubbling up violently to the surface, is hurt and dismay. How can he look right into Jongin's face with those beautiful eyes, with an absolute lack of recognition? Had he meant nothing to someone who was everything to him, once upon a time?

“I'm here to kill you,” he hears himself say, and oh no, this has now gone far beyond embarrassing. He's actually standing here grandstanding, like some two-bit villain. Watch him prepare to monologue his whole plan to Kyungsoo next.

“Killing and eating aren't mutually exclusive things,” Kyungsoo says, rolling up the next pancake to expedite it into his mouth. He grimaces as he chews, keeping his sticky fingers held out next to his head. “That came out wrong. That sounds like some cannibal serial killer encouragement,” he adds, voice muffled as he squints at Jongin. “I'm just offering pancakes. Don't eat my body. I'll come back and haunt you.”

Not that being haunted by him would be anything new. “You're just going to–”

“Jong-” Kyungsoo interrupts him softly, absently wiping at the crumbs stuck on his upper lip. He takes a small step closer, mouth hanging open, partially chewed pancake showing. “...Jonginnie?”

Jongin swears his heart must have come to a complete halt. His fingers go numb.

“ _Kim Jongin_ ,” Kyungsoo says in awe. “They sent _you_?”

Jongin is about to open his mouth, to confirm, to tamp down that swelling feeling of relief upon finally being recognized, when Kyungsoo inhales and speaks again. “Wow, you grew _up_.” Still unbothered by the gun, Kyungsoo looks him over head to toe. “You look good.”

In a different reality, this conversation would make sense.

“Here-” Kyungsoo steps forward again, and Jongin reels, fighting instincts telling him to squeeze the trigger, that the person in front of him is—well, no. Kyungsoo is about as dangerous as they come. But he’s brandishing - not a weapon - but a wedge of pancake, syrup fully soaked into the fluffy surface. He takes another step, and slowly holds it out in front of Jongin’s mouth. “Try it at least.”

“Did you not hear an—”

Kyungsoo seizes the opportunity, stuffing the bite into Jongin’s open mouth, stopping him mid-sentence. He grins proudly as he finishes off the crumbs that clung to his fingers, and rips another piece to feed to himself. “You used to love my pancakes,” he says, almost smugly as he watches Jongin struggle with what to do before finally chewing.

This is absurd. Flashbacks come to him unbidden of soft linens and bare skin; stolen shirts, stolen kisses, and stolen time. Wouldn’t it be great to live here one day? _Wouldn’t it be great to leave everything behind and come live here one day, Jonginnie? We can sleep all day, wake up and have pancakes in—_

Jongin chokes, coughing as his body tries to violently expel the lethal dose of nostalgia lodged in his throat. He notices, distantly, Kyungsoo setting the plate down in a rush and gently prying the gun from his hand and clapping him between the shoulder blades. And then Kyungsoo lays the weapon on the counter, next to the diminished stack of pancakes, looking back at him with mild concern, brows raised.

“Milk?”

He walks around Jongin, grabbing a paper cup on his way to the mini fridge, where he pulls out a skinny carton. Like Jongin is just a house guest, unexpected but not unwanted. Kyungsoo pushes the cup into his hands and leads him to a stool at the tiny kitchen island.

“You don’t seem that surprised to see me,” Jongin says slowly, after he’s washed away the bite. The lump in his throat remains, however, no matter what he does.

Kyungsoo cups his cheek briefly, lifting so Jongin has to look up from staring at the cup in his lap. A thumb brushes over his cheekbone as Kyungsoo takes him in, up close, before dropping his hand back to his side. “I knew they would send people after me,” he explains dispassionately. “I knew there was a chance they’d find me here. Not a big chance, but it was possible. I didn’t think they’d send you.”

He gulps heavily, “I took the ticket.”

“How much am I worth?”

Everything. “A million bucks.”

Kyungsoo feigns an impressed face. “That’ll get you a lot of shiny new toys, I bet.”

Jongin doesn’t answer. Doesn’t _know_ how to answer. He startles as Kyungsoo turns and walks away, but is waved back into his seat as Kyungsoo merely clears several paces to the little coffee table to retrieve something and comes right back to him.

“If you don’t mind,” Kyungsoo says, popping one of the little film canisters open, “for old times’ sake. Let me just...”

“Aren’t you going to fight…” His sentence trails off as Kyungsoo carefully extracts a small green clump from the canister. It looks like a dense ball of lint. The smell is stronger now, being in tighter proximity to it.

It takes Kyungsoo half a minute to cross the small room again to the sink, and pour water into some kind of glass pipe before returning to him. He places the clump into a little hole at the top, and it only occurs to Jongin now that—

“...Weed?”

Kyungsoo’s face lights up in a massive grin. “You can just walk down the street and buy some. Isn’t that crazy?” He pats around the pile of stuff he brought, pulling a lighter out of the mess triumphantly. “So sad,” he sighs, “I went and bought like a little bit of everything, and I guess I'm not even gonna be able to try like a quarter of it.”

“I-”

“Here,” Kyungsoo says suddenly, as if a lightbulb just went off. “I bequeath the rest to you. I bought the premium stuff too, eh? Don't just leave it here to be tossed into some police evidence baggie.”

Bequeath. For after he dies. After Jongin kills him. Funny, he doesn’t remember Kyungsoo being quite so morbid.

“Watch closely,” instructs Kyungsoo. “I burnt the fuck out of my tongue the first couple of times. I’m pretty sure my lungs are still healing too, but I mean...kind of moot now, right?” He then lights the little clump and takes a deep pull, causing dense white smoke to form in the pipe, build into almost a cloud, before he moves his finger away from a little hole on the side, and sucks it all down.

The next words come out of Kyungsoo's mouth almost like a speech bubble come to life. The smoke pouring from his lips make him look like a dragon breathing fire. Jongin is too distracted to process the meaning of the actual words until Kyungsoo is reaching for him.

“Shotgun, alright?” is all the warning he hears before Kyungsoo grabs the pipe and repeats, only this time he tilts Jongin's chin upward and hurriedly presses their lips together.

Kyungsoo’s thumb pries Jongin’s mouth open, and then hot smoke is breathed into him before Kyungsoo pulls away. “Hold it,” he says. “I heard it’s not as potent this way, so you want to let your body absorb as much of it as possible.”

Jongin coughs it out, tasting the herbally film coating his tongue. Just as his breathing is back under control, Kyungsoo leans in again to deliver a second dose.

“Jesus, that’s strong,” Kyungsoo whispers, covering his eyes and leaning his hip against the counter. “I feel it already.”

Perhaps not all of the smoke escaped his lungs, choosing instead to float up into his brain. Everything feels fuzzy. He’s still reeling and lightheaded from their kiss. Their not-kiss. Or maybe it’s the drug, bleeding into his system. Into his thoughts. Weighing them down and slowing them to a crawl.

Kyungsoo had stepped away and returned without him even noticing. “Open up,” he orders, and Jongin complies for reasons unknown, getting another bite of cold pancakes fed to him. He can feel every pocket of syrup, every bit of texture, all the flavors within it. It helps soak up the residue from the smoke, the odd flavor and numbness washing away as he chases the bite with another swig of milk. Jongin swears he can feel the cold liquid run all the way down his throat, into his stomach. Aware. He’s hyperaware of everything. Time has slowed down, senses heightened. But he feels like someone’s packed cotton into his head, to where every thought is sluggish, harder to process.

Together, they demolish the plate in silence. Even cold, Kyungsoo’s pancakes have always been the best. They taste even better now, somehow. A thumb swipes at his lower lip, brushing crumbs off of it that Kyungsoo collects and licks into his own mouth.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo says in that low, smooth voice, deeper now with age. “Feeling magnanimous?”

It feels like he’s in the next room over, or down a nonexistent hallway, hearing all of this in echoes. Forcing himself to speak takes massive effort. “Huh?”

“I don’t think you should operate a gun right now, Nini,” says Kyungsoo, bracketing Jongin’s legs with his hands gripping either side of the stool.

“What should I do?” he slurs out. It’s not that he missed the nickname so casually dropped in Kyungsoo’s sentence, it’s that he seems to only be able to focus on one thing at a time.

This time, when their lips touch, Kyungsoo angles his head and slides his mouth over Jongin’s in a gentle caress. A _kiss_. He tastes syrup on Kyungsoo’s tongue as it licks over his own. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the rough surfaces intertwine, contrasting with the smoothness of Kyungsoo’s lips suckling on his. A part of him is shocked, but a more dominant part is kissing back hungrily, instinctively pulling Kyungsoo in closer, wanting to inhale all of him again.

“Are you in a hurry?” Kyungsoo murmurs into his mouth.

“Hurry?” Jongin answers, followed by a gasp as teeth drag over his lip.

“To finish the job,” explains Kyungsoo as he climbs into Jongin’s lap, balancing them precariously on the small stool before going back to peppering Jongin with teasing kisses. “I made a bucket list, and I mean, I’m not asking you to let me knock out everything on it, but…”

Too greedy, too desperate for more, nearly a minute passes before he forces himself to ask, “Are you trying to bribe me away from it?”

Kyungsoo laughs against him. “You taste so good,” he observes, licking a broad stripe right over Jongin’s lower lip, over his chin, before diving back in messily. “I want to have sex while high. I almost thought about finding some random guy, but...god, how fucked up would that be, right?” He snickers, and Jongin finds himself giggling along too. “Bring someone here to fuck, to risk his life, too. It seemed wrong, but _fuck_ , everything feels so much better right now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re asking me to fuck you before I kill you,” Jongin confirms, barely able to get the whole sentence out before laughing at the absurdity of the statement.

“Much better than _after_ you kill me,” Kyungsoo counters, and they go for another round of cackles at the dark humor.

It sobers him somewhat though. “How am I supposed to do that and still go through with it?”

Kyungsoo shrugs. “So don’t go through with it,” he hums, yanking Jongin’s shirt to the side and licking over the exposed collarbone. Heaven help him, he can feel the scratchiness of Kyungsoo’s tongue as it drags over his skin, causing pleasure to spiral through him in waves. “If you don’t want to kill me, then we’ll go to one of the hot springs around here and do it all over again.”

“I-”

“My treat.”

Cool air hits his chest as his shirt is lifted up, and Kyungsoo lets out a low whistle. “You’ve _really_ grown up, huh?” he says, tracing fingertips over the hard lines on Jongin’s torso. It tickles.

The shirt is on the floor in the next moment, while Jongin fumbles with Kyungsoo’s clothes. The scars. There are new additions, but Jongin traces over the vicious looking one in the center of Kyungsoo’s chest, a decade into fading, yet still distinct.

“Sorry,” he whispers to it.

“Fuck me,” Kyungsoo pleads, sliding off to shed the rest of his clothing.

The tile is cold against his bare skin, and Jongin jumps a little in shock, but Kyungsoo returns quickly enough to straddle his lap and attack his mouth again. Thoughts race through his head, dropping off to the side one right after another, out of view before he can give any enough attention. Why are they on the kitchen floor, when the bed is mere meters away, why are they even _doing_ this, why—

Kyungsoo bounces down on his own finger, impatiently trying to work himself open, whining as Jongin attaches his mouth to one of Kyungsoo’s nipples. The lube hits his cock icy cold, a good squirt of it landing under him, between his legs, enhancing the jarring temperature shift between him and the floor. But Kyungsoo is grabbing him, directing Jongin in between his cheeks, and sinking down. It takes several tries. He’s not prepped enough, but he’s forcing it in anyway, until suddenly the muscle ring gives, and Kyungsoo lets out a gasp as he drops into Jongin’s lap.

He feels everything. Every inch of Kyungsoo, silky smooth and hot against him, gripping like a vise.

“Fuck, oh Jesus, fuck, that’s intense,” curses Kyungsoo, breathing through his mouth and steadying himself with his hands on Jongin’s shoulders. He knocks their foreheads together gently, giggling again. “I feel like it should probably hurt, but I don’t care?” he says, the end of the sentence tilting upwards. “How do I feel?”

But then Kyungsoo lifts up and rocks back against him, and any words that might have sought to leave Jongin’s mouth vanish in an instant. It’s a strange, strange sensation. The headiness, the fuzzy feeling over his whole body, to couple that with sex, it’s both full-body captivating, and almost like he’s outside of his own body, observing with detached interest, clinically, as Kyungsoo rides him.

He doesn’t exactly recall memories, but suddenly it feels like they’re not here, on a cold, grimy motel room floor, but in that ridiculous hotel suite with the ocean view at sunset. He can hear birds cawing in his mind as he grabs onto Kyungsoo’s hips and pulls him in with each drop down, sheathing himself fully, matching moan for moan. How did they get here, he wonders vaguely, but the thought floats off into space as Kyungsoo groans and grinds against him.

The pleasure is odd. It builds, but it’s a heavier weight, like it takes more to push off, to climb. Like his head is too distracted to focus on what Kyungsoo is doing to his body. But simultaneously, it’s more intense than anything he’d ever felt, every nerve in him amplified.

One hand bracing himself on the floor, the other tightens around Kyungsoo's waist as he lifts up, fucking into him so that their skin slaps loudly together, wet and slick as Jongin speeds up. Kyungsoo chants a litany of curses above him, escalating in volume, and he can feel it. He can _feel_ Kyungsoo reaching the end, his body tensing, waiting.

“Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo moans, mouth agape, eyes rolled back as he clings to him, as Jongin teases his tongue over Kyungsoo's taut nipples, enjoying how hard they feel against him.

He comes gasping for breath, feeling Kyungsoo spasm hard around him and throw his head back with abandon. Jongin groans as the waves continue to crash around him, on this motel floor or in a five star suite overlooking the coast or anywhere or nowhere, with Kyungsoo's release landing hot on his chest in spurts. It lasts forever. Even as he feels like his cock must have emptied every last bit of its reserves, the ecstasy still washes over him, only lessening minutely as they try to collect their breaths.

“Holy fuck,” Kyungsoo says tiredly, sweat mingling with his own as he rests his forehead against Jongin's. “I don't think I ever came so hard in my life.”

It seems stupid to agree, even though silently, he does. His body is still quaking in the aftermath, vibrating from it.

“Not to rush or anything,” Kyungsoo mumbles a minute or two later, once Jongin has softened and slipped out, once his cum has started leaking out and Kyungsoo squeaked and plugged a finger into his hole, both of them too lazy and exhausted to move, “but I can get your gun now if you want. Or we could nap this high off and then drive to Mount Princeton, I think it's called. The hot springs there got the best reviews.”

The reminder that he is here to do a job should shock some sobriety into Jongin. He should be appalled.

“Can you make more pancakes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my angel, at1stsoo/At1stSight for betaing my mess. So technically, they burned first and then banged, but I mean... /ducks/ I don't think anyone saw this coming. It's a twist, and hopefully it makes sense. Kudos/upvote if you liked it. Let me know what you think in comments. (I LOVE COMMENTS) You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/filet_jignon) as [@filet_jignon](https://twitter.com/filet_jignon) if you want to talk, or if you're shy, I also have a [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/filet_jignon)!


	3. Chapter 3

_ “So from here, you can bring your arm around,” Kyungsoo instructs calmly, “which will allow you to swing out of side control. And then boom, arm bar.” _

_ Jongin tries to execute the move. He manages, but it is clunky. They reset, and he climbs over Kyungsoo again, trying to avoid dripping sweat into his face. _

_ “Look,” he hears, before all the air in Jongin’s lungs escape in a whoosh. “Tell me how I did that.” _

_ He replays the movement in his head. “You-” It’s hard to breath, and he taps on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, gasping greedily once his airway is clear again. “You pinned my leg, and swung around—” _

_ “No.” Kyungsoo helps him up to sitting, and folds his legs under him, adjusting his gi. Session is paused. Finally. “Look at you. You’re taller than me. You’ve got more reach. You’re flexible as hell. Those are your strengths. But I’m stronger. I’ve got better core.” _

_ “And more experience,” he grumbles. _

_ Kyungsoo smirks. “And more experience, yes. But my point is that you can’t outmuscle me, and every time we roll, you try to outmuscle me. You gas out because you forget to breathe. And that’s going to be your downfall.” He reaches over to grab the water bottle, taking several gulps before passing it to Jongin. “This is no different from a chess game. Brute strength will only exhaust you. You need to outthink, outmaneuver your opponent. You have to anticipate their actions. You have to know how they think, what they want, and you have to turn it on them.” _

_ At eighteen years old, Kim Jongin had been in over a dozen fights already. Fighting is not new. But this, having to refine techniques, commit muscle memory, do drills, it seems so counterintuitive. So useless. What do these skills matter when it comes to real-world situations? “How am I supposed to know someone I just met?” he asks petulantly. _

_ “They will show you,” Kyungsoo says. “And you’ll learn, with more experience. You need to pay attention, so you can take them down, with no hesitation, when the moment presents itself. Make sense?” _

_ “Yeah, but I mean… I’m still no good if I go up against someone who’s more skilled.” _

_ “You’re not going to be sparring,” Kyungsoo can be so patient. It’s admirable, when it’s not angering. “You’re using this in combat. In real life situations. You ever heard the saying, ‘if you punch a black belt, he turns into a brown belt?’ And from brown belt to purple belt, and so on?” _

_ “...No?” _

_ “I don’t necessarily agree with it,” Kyungsoo picks at a nail and straightens back up. “But it has merit. In general, it means all of your skills, your training, your cleverness, goes right out the window when the first punch lands. You’re discombobulated and afraid, and fear makes you stupid.” _

_ “What… am I supposed to do with that information?” Jongin flails internally, confused. _

_ Kyungsoo grins. “Be the one who throws the punch.” _

—

There was weed in the pancakes, he learns later. As Kyungsoo was making another batch and lamenting that he used up all of the oil in the first batch. Feeling his high amplify from strong to echo chamber levels of powerful, Jongin ended up curled up in the bed to try and sleep away the overwhelming sensations while his heart thudded a thousand miles a minute in his chest.

“Fuck, I feel like death. Can you get me some water?” the soft lump of blanket asks.

Jongin has been staring for the last thirty minutes, listening to the familiar, gentle snores floating up from it, and feeling too many emotions swirl and knot in his chest. Another minute goes by, and the blankets get pulled down, Kyungsoo’s sleep-swollen, amused face looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sore as fuck. Are you really gonna make me walk?” It is jarring, hearing Kyungsoo whine.

“I don’t even know what they accused you of,” Jongin confesses, voice hoarse and thick. Thicker than usual, even. His throat is bone dry too, but he’s been stubbornly trying to avoid lifting the spell. To see where this reality leads. “I just accepted the ticket.”

“Ah,” Kyungsoo says, rolling onto his back and rubbing his hand over his scalp. The buzz cut must be new. It’s quite different from the Kyungsoo that Jongin has stored away, in his mind, with his dark, rich brown hair, long enough to get stuck in his eyelashes and needing to be constantly pushed out of his face. But it suits him, this more mature, more rugged, rogue-ish look. He’d look his age if it weren’t for the boyish features, the plush lips, and the bright (somewhat bloodshot), wide eyes. It suits him very well.

Kyungsoo has lost a lot of the muscle he had when last they met. Still fit. (Still beautiful.) But not as broad as he was, not as much muscle to disguise his slimmer frame. Of course, being a sniper, the bulk had always been more for ego rather than practicality.

The silence grows, as Kyungsoo waits for him to ask, and Jongin waits for him to tell.

_ Did you miss me? You did not even recognize me. How much of me do you even remember? When was the last time the memory of me crossed your mind? Do you still— _

Questions race past his mind’s eye and Jongin strikes each of them out just as quickly as they appear. Irrelevant questions. Needless questions. Selfish questions.

“What did you do?” Jongin goes with instead, over the dozen others trying to fight their way past his lips. The safest option.

Kyungsoo rolls off the other side, unabashed in his nudity as he strides to the bathroom, not even bothering to switch the lights on. His voice echoes as he speaks loudly, to be heard over his piss stream. “I killed some people who needed killing, and some other people disagreed with my choices.”

His voice lacks any remorse or fear as he delivered his pithy explanation. Jongin's eyes follow him as he leaves the bathroom and goes to the kitchenette, a slight stiffness in his steps. He walks back to the bed, steadily chugging a glass of water, holding out the remaining half in offering once he reaches Jongin's side.

It almost hurts to drink. The water tastes wrong as his throat desperately attempts to rehydrate, too sweet and foreign. Jongin eagerly drains the glass, barely having time to set it onto the nightstand when Kyungsoo pulls the sheets back, exposing his nudity to the air, and draping himself across Jongin's stomach, merely smiling at the ensuing, surprised hiss and goosebumps. His skin is colder, and he greedily lines them up so he can warm himself with Jongin's body.

“I—”

“Round three?” Kyungsoo sing-songs, brushing over Jongin’s calf with icy toes. “Or is it time?”

He’s suddenly too aware of his own bladder, with Kyungsoo’s knee putting just enough pressure on it. “Time for what?” Jongin mumbles, trying not to squirm away.

The pressure grows. It’s intentional now, the knee. Kyungsoo regards him with an amused look as his knee dips in some more. “Are you blowing my brains out, Jonginnie? Or are we gonna go get fucked up in a hot spring in the Rockies?”

He pushes Kyungsoo’s leg off and shuffles backward on the bed to escape, going the long way around to reach the bathroom. The toilet is still flushing when he steps back into the bedroom, leaning shyly against the wall, hand hovering in front of his crotch. “I don’t think I ever want to get high again,” he says hoarsely.

Kyungsoo shrugs and shimmies to the center of the bed, spreading his arms out as he kicks the comforter off. His body responds to the cool air immediately, nipples tightening under Jongin’s gaze. “Well, do it then,” he orders.

He’s too busy watching Kyungsoo’s cock harden to understand what is being asked. “Huh?”

“I’m hungry. I want to get high again. I want to fuck again,” Kyungsoo ticks off, staring placidly at the ceiling. “So if you’re gonna kill me, get it done already so I don’t have to bother getting up.”

“Why are you being like this?” Jongin asks quietly, taking a tentative step closer. “How can you be so indifferent?”

Kyungsoo lifts his upper body up to lean over the side of the bed, scooping up the bottle of lube that had rolled against the nightstand. He ignores Jongin and instead, squirts a large amount of the gel into his palm and starts stroking himself, spreading his legs to let it trickle down, hissing as it makes contact. “ _ Shit _ , you were so rough the last time,” he whispers, letting his eyes flutter shut.

What is Jongin expected to do here? “I-... You told me to go harder,” he offers weakly, flashing back to holding Kyungsoo down on the bed just hours earlier, ramming him hoarse.

A dry chuckle leaves Kyungsoo’s mouth, followed by a gasp as he speeds up over himself. His mouth hangs open, plump lips dry and cracking. His tongue peeks out to wet them, and he moans softly. “I did, didn’t I,” Kyungsoo sighs, lifting his knees up to plant his feet on the mattress. His other hand dips down, tracing a fingertip over his rim, wincing as the lube smears around. “Actually, you should bottom this time.”

“Please,” Jongin says, pulling Kyungsoo’s hands away and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Let me help you.”

Kyungsoo grabs the bottle of lube and opens Jongin’s palm out, frowning when he jerks away.

“Not like… that,” Jongin pulls at his own hair in exasperation, feeling tears burn at his eyes. “Please, Kyungsoo. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help. Maybe we can fix thi—”

“There’s no fixing this, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo’s wry smile cuts. “If it’s not you, they’ll just send someone else. And then it’ll be both of us dead.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I killed the Chairman,” Kyungsoo deadpans, studying Jongin’s face, waiting for him to get it. “I killed his son, his wife, his sister. I killed the entire Management branch.”

“You…” Jongin’s mind blanks. He can’t even comprehend this magnitude. “You… what?”

“Funny what lawn fertilizer, sugar, and some good ole fashioned determination can do, huh?”

“Why!” he barks out.

Kyungsoo pulls himself up to sitting and shrugs. He rolls off the bed, walks back to the bathroom, and hangs off the doorframe. “They wanted me back in. I told them I was retired.” He rests his head against the wall, crooking a finger toward Jongin, as if this is the time to be enticing. “They tried to blackmail me, and when that didn’t work, they thought if they killed my brother, it’d make me change my mind. And it did. Want to shower?”

“Seungsoo is dead?” Jongin whispers in disbelief. “What about his wife? His daugh—”

“All dead.” The smile is much tighter this time, more strained. “They’re all dead.” When he realizes Jongin isn’t up for a shower, he disappears momentarily to procure a towel, wiping up the lube between his legs. “I guess I should’ve cleaned house when I went through SM, but I thought being merciful was the right choice. It’s just going to cycle. They killed everyone in my life, I killed what I thought was all of them, those cockroaches survived and are launching another counter attack.” He shrugs again.

_ ‘Everyone in my life.’ _ The words ache. This is not the time for these feelings. Jongin quashes them out of sight, packs them deep down to deal with later. He deliberates, not making eye contact as Kyungsoo continues to study him.

“We can run.”

“Run where, Jonginnie?”

He licks his lips, growing more confident as he sees the plan map out in his mind. “I have money. I have resources. No one knows that you’re here other than me. We have time on our side.”

Kyungsoo walks back to him, cradling his cheek and petting the hair out of his eyes. He still looks so achingly handsome. “You don’t know what you’re offering,” he says.

“I do.” He’s always had. He’s had no other choice. His life had been laid out for him ever since Kyungsoo’s face showed up on his phone after all these years.

Kyungsoo sighs, grabbing his hands and pulling. “Let’s go shower. We’ll come up with something after.”

He can do this. He has to do this. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooooooo! Sorry, it's been so long! It's going to be more regular now, I promise! I actually had most of this chapter written, and then a...LOT of things happened that derailed it, and so I finally just....paid some attention to it today. It's a shorter chapter, yes, but hopefully it'll get the ball rolling again. Thank you if you're still reading! Let me know if you liked it? Do you suspect anything? Hmmmm...
> 
> As always, I'm on Twitter as [@filet_jignon](https://twitter.com/filet_jignon) and I have a [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/filet_jignon) as well. <33


	4. Chapter 4

_ He instantly recognizes the man who comes in as the cranky nurse exits. This was the one who pulled him from that building before it was reduced to rubble. His savior. The angel, in high definition and without the haze of blood loss and impending death. The man’s build ages him younger than Jongin, but his face - he must be older. Those eyes are stern and serious. They’ve scanned him immediately upon entry and deemed him something not worthy, whether as a threat or as someone of significance. He is decked out in all black, complete with combat boots. It masks the soot, but some has smeared over his neck and forearms. He probably smells of smoke too. _

_ “Don’t try to sit up,” the man tuts disapprovingly, motioning Jongin to lie back down on the thin, sterile mattress. _

_ “Thank you,” he rasps, throat raw. He doesn’t even remember inhaling smoke. _

_ “You stupid kid,” the man sighs, walking closer and leaning his hip against the bedside table. He’s built. Slim, but solid. Jongin can recognize a fighter when he sees one. “What were you even doing in that place?” _

_ Ignoring the insult, Jongin barks out a laugh, and is punished immediately for his efforts with a round of coughs. “I was Kang’s driver,” he manages to sputter out, wincing internally after. The memory of Kang’s head bursting like a red water balloon returns to him rather vividly. What if this person was with the other people? He’d be fucked. Saved only to be offed and dumped unceremoniously into the river, no doubt. “I- um. I—” _

_ “They’re hiring punks off the street now?” the man sneers, shaking his head in disdain. _

_ “Look, thank you for saving my life,” Jongin bristles, “but you’re not some old war veteran. Can you not talk to me like I’m a child?” _

_ “You  _ **_are_ ** _ a child.” _

_ “You don’t know me,” Jongin spits out. Gratitude doesn't mean he can just be disrespected like this. _

_ The man throws something onto his lap. It lands lightly, barely making a sound on the stiff sheets. His driver’s license. His wallet lands next, emptied out. The man fans out its contents and pretends to examine them, plucking them one by one and dropping them on top of the bed. _

_ “Kim Jongin. Age eighteen. High school dropout. Overdrawn bank account,” the man lists off, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Runaway from Suncheon thinking he can hang with the big boys in Seoul. Joins a gang. Gets the shit beaten out of him not even a week in. Joins another. The gang gets massacred within a month. Dabbles in dealing yaba to other stupid teenagers. That eventually leads you to Kang, and somehow you convince her you’re some hard thug. That got her killed. Sounds like bad luck follows you, Kim. Correct me where I’m wrong here.” _

_ His blood ices over. “Are you going to kill me?” Jongin asks, faking calm. _

_ “I hauled your dead weight out of that building,” the man grunts, frowning down at the sheets and starts to gather the cards back up, stacking them neatly back into his wallet before dropping it into Jongin’s palm. “It took thirty fucking minutes. You think I needed the cardio?” _

_ “Then… why…” Jongin trails off, confusion smudging away any other words. _

_ The man scoffs, leaning back against the table and studying Jongin’s face. “The order was just for Kang and Park,” he states, as if that explains everything. _

_ Jongin waits for more. More doesn’t come. “So… what happens to me now?” _

_ Something shifts behind the man’s eyes. He smiles, and they twinkle. It’s boyish, and innocent, and Jongin is so jarred from the sudden change that he almost misses his words. “All your friends are dead again,” the man shrugs. “I guess you’ll find another gang who’s looking to take in runaways with bad track records. Try slinging weed or amphetamines next time. Safer. Probably better money in those, too.” _

_ So he's safe, here, for now. Jongin fights the urge to provoke a fight. He's in no shape for one right now, and upon closer inspection, he's not sure he could take this guy on a good day. So much for savior. “You’ve got me all figured out, huh?” _

_ “Don't care to figure you out. I just didn't want to feel bad thinking I killed some dumb junkie stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.” _

_ “I'm not a junkie.” _

_ “Again,” the man says, “don't care.” _

_ “I mean, you gonna tell me your name, at least?” _

_ ————— _

_ “...Dominique van Hulst?” _ Jongin reads out slowly, brows furrowing as he flips the driver’s license back and forth.

“Mm, your English accent is so sexy.”

Jongin bites back a reflexive smile at the compliment, focusing harder on the ID card. “It says here that you’re 5’10”,” he mutters, vision blurring as he does some mental math. “That’s… 178 centimeters…”

Kyungsoo cocks a brow high up in challenge. “And what of it?”

There’s no concealing the next smile, although Jongin does manage to hold back the laugh that would surely get him hit. “I just, ahh,” he drawls out unconvincingly, “forgot… how  _ tall…  _ you were.”

It’s surreal, watching Kyungsoo as he drives. So casual. The last time this happened, they were racing out of the city before it could go into lockdown. This is a much different set of circumstances.

...Well.

Kyungsoo still has a hit out on him, and Jongin is still the primary to take him out. He needs to be coming up with an actionable exit strategy. Or make up his mind and just… complete the job. Is he really ready to risk it all for someone he hasn’t even seen in a decade?

“I would make such a terrible zombie,” Jongin mutters instead, curling his legs up underneath him in the passenger seat.

“Why is that?”

He clutches his forehead, staring wide-eyed at Kyungsoo. The high has dwindled down to a pleasant vibrating under his skin, much more tolerable now that they’re an hour or so into the drive. “I can’t stop eating,” Jongin whines. “I just… I know I’m not even hungry. But I see the food, or I smell it, and I  _ have to have it _ . And I have no impulse control whatsoever.”

“I’d argue that would make you an  _ excellent _ zombie,” Kyungsoo muses.

“We need to leave town,” Jongin blurts out finally.

“That’s what we’re doing, sugar.”

“No,” Jongin shakes his head for emphasis, “we need to get far away from here. Before they send backup.”

“I booked the room for 7pm. I’m really excited to try it.”

This again.  _ How? _ It’s baffling how Kyungsoo can be so blasé about this. Does he truly not care what happens? Jongin cares a great deal what will happen to them next.

He’s just too high at the moment to put together a plan.

—

The room is small and steamy and, really, it’s not that special. A thin PVC pipe is fed through the window to the tub. They’re in the basement of their “resort,” if it can be called such a thing. (Which, going by the brochure, they’re definitely doing.) Jongin can only hope that the odd brown stains coming out of the other end of the PVC pipe are just mineral deposits and not some sort of flesh-devouring bacterial sludge.

Kyungsoo has already stripped and is standing underneath the shower in the corner to rinse off. His enthusiasm hasn’t wavered in the slightest. Jongin double-checks the locks, gives the tub another wary glance, and slowly disrobes. The floors are a dark wood, damp like everything else, and have a slight bounce to them. He has visions of the entire thing caving in and trapping them, letting them slowly suffocate to death from the steam, and shivers despite the heat.

“Wow, that’s really hot!” exclaims Kyungsoo, already up the short flight of steps and dipping his feet into the water. “Ohh, it’s nice though. Hurry, Jonginnie.”

Reluctantly, Jongin makes his way over to the shower area, frowning at the skinny trickle of water that comes out. They should be strategizing. Or at least talking about…  _ them _ . Consequences and future actions, or baring that, if Jongin actually means anything to him, or if he really was just willing to fuck somebody, anybody, just for the experience. Does Kyungsoo even care that it’s  _ him _ here right now? Or can anybody be here?

“Fu-u-u-uck,” Kyungsoo hisses, steadily sinking down until the water reaches his collarbones. “It’s  _ hot _ .”

“It’s a hot spring.”

“This feels really nice on my ass right now.”

Jongin opts to sit on the little wooden planks they have set up on one side of the tub, dipping his legs in to just under his knees. It feels like hot water. “I can get a private plane,” he says quietly. “We could be in LAX by morning, easily.”

“Ooh, California weed should be  _ good. _ ”

“Why is this all you care about right now?” Jongin snaps, a little too loudly. His voice echoes in the small room. “Do you not care about what happens to you?” And then, after a pause, quieter: “Or me? Do you not care if I’m here or not?”

“Of course, I care,” Kyungsoo says, wading toward him. He wraps his hands around Jongin’s calves and pulls him until he has to sink into the water. His hands rest on Jongin’s waist as they face each other. His eyes are bright and wide. They were so bloodshot this morning, it was scary. “Confirm the kill, then.”

“What?”

Kyungsoo’s hands wander up his chest, kneading his shoulders firmly. “Confirm the kill here. You’re the golden boy at Ace Consulting, aren’t you? If they even bother to ask for evidence, we can give them evidence. Will that make you feel better?”

Why is it so hard to follow anything right now… He’s supposed to be sobering up. Give them evidence… “You mean we could kill somebody here,” he clarifies.

“Unless you wanted to kill me,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “Either way, there’d be proof.”

He’s never done anything like this. Maybe back in the day. He was a completely different person before Kyungsoo. Since joining SME, everything was done by the book. There’s a reason he has the reputation that he does. He’s  _ earned _ it.

But he took this job knowing there was no way he could finish it.

“How do you know I’m with Ace?”

Kyungsoo strokes his cheek tenderly, leaning in and pressing their lips together. “Did you think I’d just stop keeping tabs on you because of what happened? You’ve really made a name for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

He will  _ not _ blush. Jongin’s shoulders hunch into an awkward shrug. “Not  _ my  _ name,” he mumbles. “Had to burn that.”

“Lee Taemin,” Kyungsoo smirks. “It’s not a bad name.”

“I thought you were retired…”

Kyungsoo guides him deeper into the water, balancing so their heads are above. It’s hard to breathe, with the water so hot, and the air so humid. Jongin can’t imagine how on earth this could possibly be good for your body. 

Kyungsoo sighs, leaning back against the ceramic tiles, “I guess you didn’t keep tabs on me.” He shrugs and smiles at his reflection. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected it.”

But that’s not true. Jongin searched for him. For  _ years _ . All he could ever discover were rumors. How Kyungsoo managed to vanish like that was something that puzzled him for ages.

Hardly the matter now. They came for Kyungsoo and hurt him, and Jongin wasn’t there to save him then. He couldn’t help then. But he’s here now.

“There’s no signal down here,” he says, catching Kyungsoo’s eye. “I can confirm when we go back upstairs.”

“And what are we doing when we get upstairs, lover?” Kyungsoo asks.

Sober up enough so he can fill out the details of this plan. If Kyungsoo can’t lead on this, he can. He has the resources. He can get them out of here. They can drop off the face of the planet. Truly retire.

“Whatever you want,” Jongin answers, earning a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a start. This won't be a very long fic. There will be angst, but it's not gonna go where you think it will (hopefully). Kudos/Upvote, and comment(!) if you liked it!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/filet_jignon) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/filet_jignon)


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